Page 81 of Bound to the Orc King

“Why should I sully myself with the likes of you?”

“Sully?” The bloodlust of orcs, which I’ve spent my entire life fighting in order to be a better diplomat for my people, rages through me. “How dare you say sully?”

“I am King Severin of the fae.” He sends five shadow tentacles shooting toward me and the guard on the ground.

“It is I, King Aldronn of Elmswood Keep, who is sullied by you, dark fae!” I slice through all of his shadows. “I’ve seen the wreckage of Avalon. I’ve felt its dead land beneath my feet.” My fist thumps my chest. “My lands are green and hale. My people are happy!”

The sneer slides from his face for a moment, exposing a look of deep sorrow. He whispers something that sounds like, “You have so many trees.”

I refuse to let it distract me, and for good reason.

“They will be mine.” The dark fae’s face hardens. He slings his hands forward, and shadows peel from the tattoos on his arms to dart at me like a nest of eyeless snakes.

I whirl, my moon steel blade whistling through the air. But no matter how fast I am, it’s never enough.

Tendrils from one of the other fae punch the back of my right shoulder and left buttock, my muscles knotting with pain.

Wranth grunts beside me, the guard he stands over gasping as well. We’re all at the end of our abilities, and even the famous orc stamina has limits.

I flick hand signs at Wranth and the other guards. Standing with our backs to each other, we form a triangle. One of the new guards who’s joined us drops to the ground to cover the lower body of Kronn, who remains upright. The guards on the ground lie between us, their feet tangling together in the center of the triangle.

We can’t stand close enough to touch and truly guard each other’s backs or we won’t have room to move without bumping into one another, so we’re still not fully protected from behind. But fewer shadow tendrils get past us now—this new formation works fairly well.

I snarl, snapping my tusks. I’ve never settled for “fairly well” when it comes to protecting my people, and I don’t plan to start now.

Starfall’s angry whinny carries on the wind. My faithful friend is coming. I don’t need to look to know she’s rallied the rest of the unicorns and they’re galloping toward us at full speed.

My next move spins me around, May and Naomi flashing across my sight. By the goddess, what are they still doing here? Why hasn’t Naomi teleported them away?

I do another strike that turns into a spin, paying more attention to my brief glimpse at the women. Why are May’s eyes closed? Why does it look like Naomi’s holding her up?

What’s wrong with my bride?

Fuck. I hate not knowing how my moon bound is!

I dodge a volley of shadow tendrils from the right. Another sneaks from straight overhead to run down my biceps and wrap around my left forearm in multiple loops. It tightens, like a snake squeezing its prey.

Pain flares, making my fingers spasm open. I switch my weapon to my right hand only, but the length of the sword combined with the angle means I can’t cut the tendril wrapping my left arm without cutting my biceps. Fuck!

More shadows attack from the front, and I counter, having practiced one-handed sword work for situations exactly like this. But the pain in my left arm is worse, the smoke tendril now so tight my flesh bulges up in between. My hand goes numb, which I know is a worse sign than the pain.

When will Starfall and the others get here?

I keep moving, slicing the other attacks out of the air. If one of them gets my throat, I’m done. But with this grip on my left arm, it’s only a matter of time before a strike from one of the other fae brings me down.

I roar, pouring all of my anger and grief into the sound. I refuse to fail my people.

I refuse to fail my bride!

Right when it feels like my arm will fall off, the pressure disappears, the tendril recoiling so quickly it’s there one second and gone the next. Blood rushes back into my hand in a throb of pain, but I welcome it. Pain means life.

I shake it out and block a frontal strike from the silver-haired fae. My body tenses, expecting another attack from above.

But none comes. I do a quick spin.Allof the tendrils from the fae overhead are gone! But how?

I slice through more smoke attacks and lunge for the silver fae.

He leaps backward, the tip of my sword falling a scant inch short, but it’s fine. It did what I wanted it to do—it bought me time to glance upward.

---